


In Our Corner

by Symph95



Series: Bokuaka Week 2020 [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MSBY gang works at McDonalds, Soulmates, Violence, Writer Akaashi Keiji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25759276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symph95/pseuds/Symph95
Summary: "I do feel bad for your soulmate though. Imagine just sitting in class and feeling like you’re getting beat up.”Bokuto’s face pales. He lets out a groan and sinks even farther down. It takes all his will power not to bang his head on the counter.“They probably hate me.”or Bokuto is a convenience store worker prone to getting into fights who shares his pain with Akaashi an overworked high schooler trying to escape into his stories.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Bokuaka Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860532
Comments: 6
Kudos: 162
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	In Our Corner

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! I hope you all are enjoying your week. I hope you enjoy this!

The aching starts again. It is barely past noon and Akaashi’s knuckles throb as though his teacher slapped them with the ruler on the chalkboard. But it has never been picked up. And as the teacher scribbles white-knuckled on the board, the throbbing persists.

Akaashi opens and closes his hand, stretching his fingers to where sharp tendrils force them bent. He grimaces and resets the grip on his pen. 

There is a clear difference in the writing, a before and after. Characters cut in lines as sharp as blades fade to drooping figures who can barely support their thoughts.

With the shrill of the bell, Akaashi immediately drops his pen. It rolls across the page before taking a quick dive off the edge of the table and runs across the floor.

Glowering down at his hands, he stands to move across the classroom. His pen rests in the doorway, and, to his surprise it doesn’t get kicked by the exiting teacher. She steps over it with high knees. Akaashi trails behind to reach down and grab the pen against the tile floor. As he looks up, he spots his teacher in the sunlit white hallways giggling at the other teacher next to her. She moves closer, hand brushing against his. With the twitch of his fingers, he locks them together.

As Akaashi stands, a kid rushes through the hallway, knocking the shoulder of Akaashi’s teacher before racing off. The teacher’s hand rises to her shoulder, the other teacher mirrors her motion.

Mumbling amongst themselves, they walk off together. Akaashi hangs his head to examine the pen before tightening his grip and marching back to the classroom.

Most of the students around Akaashi’s desk are already eating when he sits down. His hands grab his bag and pull out a small onigiri. They brush over his notebook. The reminder of the contest rings through his head, but a voice forces his hand to the textbook. He takes a few bites of his lunch before his stomach tenses and the book engulfs him. By the time the bell rings again, his onigiri is half finished while the chapter is done. A weight presses over his shoulders, society taking his head and forcing it down into another textbook. Ice settles into his stomach, spreading over his back. 

He wonders what freedom is. 

  
  


The gnawing grew. Every tap of his fingers, the white tape bites into the raw flesh of Bokuto’s knuckles. It’s past noon, but the crowds keep growing and his wounds expand in tandem. 

He keeps a grin on his face, but his eyes don’t quite crinkle as the commercials show. Two times he’s heard comments about how they wished the boy in the back with hair like ocean waves and with a voice like a pop star was working up front. 

“Have a great day!” Bokuto says. He hands the two girls their meals, the yellow smiley face so foreign from their tight lips and narrowed eyes searching for Sakusa in the back. 

They look once more, before giving Bokuto a once over and wrinkling their noses. A second later they turn away heading out the doors without a second glance. Bokuto’s shoulders droop, a lump of ice settling in his stomach chilling its way through his body. The healthy pink fades from his face as his blood stops. 

Glancing at the clock shows that he is barely a half hour in his shift. His body warms as his foot begins to tap beneath the counter. And yet the gnawing persists. His foot taps off beat before falling into a slower rhythm.

“Can you stop that?” Sakusa asks. He creeps up from the back, standing at the register next to Bokuto. “It’s clawing out my brain.”

Bokuto startles at his presence before grinning. “Of course!”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, and turns to the register pressing at a few of the buttons. The next swarm of people come through the door, and everyone surrounds him. Giggling ensues as girls point this way and that, flicking their hair and speaking in low tones.

As much as Sakusa says he hates it, the smile on his lips and flicker of light in his eyes tells a completely different story. He even leans in as one of the girls lowers her voice, a laugh actually bubbling from his throat as he pulls away to tap the screen. 

Bokuto scowls, resting at the second open register. No crowd forms before him, only the occasional old man and child pulling her mother along. Any girl above the age of twelve is in front of Sakusa twirling their hair. He huffs, the appeal beyond him.

As the hive clears out, Sakusa sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He combs at it, face setting in determination as he checks the silver counter. A piece lands wrong, and he hurries to clean it up. Bokuto slumps lower.

“Is someone jealous?” Sakusa flashes him a side-eye. The smirk on his face makes Bokuto’s knuckles buzz.

“I just don’t get the appeal,” he said. “You have a soulmate for a reason, why waste your time with someone else?”

Laughter cuts through the air. “That’s what you’re concerned about? Your soulmate?” Sakusa’s eyes meet his, their light disappearing. “You’re one to talk. I bet your soulmate feels every bit of your fights, and I don’t see you stopping those.”

Bokuto flinches. His hands curl together, hiding inside one another. The bruises on his body burn. Sakusa flashes him a triumphant smile, and he grows smaller.

“Don’t try to give me the soulmate lecture,” Sakusa says. “Sorry for the wait ma’am, how can I help you?”

Bokuto counts down the second until he escapes. 

  
  


The library has a new closing time in the winter. In fear that students will be out too late, they close an hour earlier. That cut out Akaashi’s only time to actually relax. He scowls at the building willing it to open. But the dark lights stare back, dragging down his shoulders and turning his stomach cold.

He huddles in his jacket, trying to draw in as much heat as possible, but his veins insist on freezing. The only warmth he found is in the throb of his knuckles, and the new warmth protruding from a bruise on his ribs.

With a tug on his backpack, he drags his feet under the weight of his school and medical books. The only thing weighing under two pounds in his bag is the writing journal hidden in the corner. 

Making his way through the dying city, the cold grows turning his face pale and his blood to ice. Every second his shoulders droop lower and lower. Even the thought of his warm bed brings chills. His feet stop at the bus station. It pulls away without him.

As the large vehicle zooms through traffic, he spots the glow of a warm light. Licking his lips, he crosses the intersection in search of heat. The squeal and honk of cars are distant noises more like the chime of bells. 

Passing by an empty lot, he throws open the door to the 7/11. Immediately, he is hit with the blinding colors on and winces. Taking a second to recover, he strides up to the counter.

“Welcome!” says a man with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and peppered hair that droops almost as much as Akaashi’s shoulders. “How can I help you?”

“One pack of camel,” he says.

The clerk’s eyes widen. He looks Akaashi over, brows furrowing at every detail. Leaning forward, he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure you’re a—”

The slap of Akaashi’s ID shuts him up. He examines it, about to say something, but when he meets Akaashi’s eyes he stutters. The ice flowing through Akaashi continues to grow. He takes in a breath, but that doesn’t stop himself from quivering.

“Give me the pack,” he said. His money slams on the counter next to the ID while his throat begins to choke.

The man at the counter stares at the money, rubs the back of his neck, and lets out a sigh. Akaashi is about to yell again, when he turns and grabs one from the row behind him.

“I wouldn’t make this a habit,” he says. “You shouldn’t destroy your lungs.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Akaashi says. “Bye.”

Turning, he grabs the pack and stomps outside. Standing by the side of the building, he pulls out his lighter and a stick. A flash of warmth trickles in from the flame and placing the cigarette between his lips washes him in heat. He stops shivering as his head clears. The ice clinging to him melts with every drag until it evaporates completely.

His lips twist up in a smile, and he goes into his bag. Pulling out his journal, he starts to write. The smoke of his cigarette steams in the air as he lazily puts down words to a story of freedom. Between the pages of his journal, he glances at the folded pages of the Bungkukai. The headline of a contest makes his hand twist faster. The weight on his shoulders disperses. The throb of his knuckles even disappears under his smile.

By the time the engine of his mind starts to wind down, two cigarette butts lie next to him with twenty pages of his journal full. His muscles are slack while his body is warm. A draft of wind whips through the air, and he goes to grab another stick. As he does so, a bell stops his movement. He looks up to see the clerk from before standing above him with a jacket and hot chocolate.

“Oh, you’re still out here,” the man said. “It was getting a little chilly. I didn’t know if you wanted something to keep you warm.”

Akaashi looks between his cigarette, and the hot chocolate. He places the stick back and extends out a hand for the drink. The clerk grins and hands him it.

“How much?” he asks.

“Free! I bought for you so don’t worry,” the man says. He slides next to Akaashi. “I’m on break right now. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Akaashi gives him a look but turns his attention back to the hot chocolate in his hands, sipping at it.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Thanks for asking.”

“No problem! It’s not everyday I see a high school student buying cigarettes, though I just started working here so I can’t tell if that _is_ common.”

“How do you know I’m a high schooler?”

The clerk smiles. “Intuition. I’m Bokuto Koutarou by the way.” He gestures to his green and orange tag.

“Akaashi Keiji,” he says. “Nice to meet you. Shouldn’t you be inside managing the store? What if a robber come?” 

Bokuto laughs. “This place is too safe for that. Plus, you’re far more interesting. What are you doing there anyway?” Akaashi looks down at the notebook he points at. His fingers begin to fiddle together.

“Ahh, just writing something.”

“That’s so cool! Can I read it?”

Akaashi’s chest warms. His lips pull up ever slightly, and his muscles ease. One glance at Bokuto reveals eyes flickering with intrigue. He leans in close, and Akaashi nods.

When he picks up the book from Akaashi’s lap, it’s the first time he notices Bokuto’s hands. Thick gauze wraps around them with a hint of red soaking through. They look so foreign to the grin on his face.

Akaashi is about to ask about them when Bokuto lets out a shout.

“This is incredible!” he says. “I’m not even a reader, but this is so cool! You’re going to write more, right?”

Akaashi’s face flushes as he plays with his hands. “Yeah, I hope that I can.” 

Bokuto’s eyes crinkle. “I find it interesting that the romance is natural, without any soulmate stuff you know?”

“I don’t really believe in all that,” Akaashi says. “Sure, yeah soulmates exist, but they only cause you pain. I wouldn't want additional hurt in my romance. People already have to deal with enough.”

Bokuto looks away, eyes dropping to the book. His face pulls down, smile turning into a tight line. “Most people say that, but I think it’s better. You understand someone in a way you normally can’t.” 

Akaashi’s eyes drift to Bokuto’s gauze. 

A sharp ring fills the air, and Bokuto shoots up. He pulls a square box from his pocket, eyes widening.

“Shoot, my break’s over,” he says. “I hope you feel better. Don’t use too many of those cigarettes, you’re going to hurt your lungs. I work here all week if you ever want to stop by.”

Akaashi’s face pulls into a tight line, but he nods. 

“See you soon.”

The walk to his job is through the roughest areas of Tokyo. He’s seen pick pockets, stabbings, and shootings. At least once a week, there is a fight right outside his apartment. Although he won’t admit it, he’s the reason for half of them. 

Today is the day one of those fights broke out. If anyone blames him, he is sticking up for the man who got tossed into the alley next to his home.

The man escaped, luckily, but Bokuto is left to clean up the mess which includes two men with muscles as big as watermelons and with fists of steel. He receives a black eye, bruises scattering his chest, and knuckles dripping blood through his gauze. He didn’t even bat an eye.

However, he is late for work. The new gauze took a long time to wrap and even now they only rub against the cuts, opening them and causing them to stain red. He can only hope that his blood isn’t splattering all over the counter. 

As he gets situated for his shift to start, the door swings open and a man in a matching uniform pushes through the door holding a smoothie in his hand.

“I’m here, woah!” Atsumu says. “What happened to you?”

Bokuto averts his gaze, picking at the gauze on his hands. “Nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Atsumu says. “You look like you got into a fight.”

“He did!” a voice calls from the back. Hinata sticks his head out from the drive thru station giving a mischievous grin. “He told me all about it. Like a knight in shining armor he rescued this man.” He makes hand motions to add effect.

Bokuto buries his head in his hands. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah it looks more like you got your ass handed to you,” Atsumu said.

“Is this really necessary?” Bokuto said. “I was just trying to do the right thing.”

Atsumu gives him a look as he drapes over the counter. Bokuto doesn’t like the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“And miss the change to annoy you?” Atsumu says. “I don’t think so. I do feel bad for your soulmate though. Imagine just sitting in class and feeling like you’re getting beat up.”

Bokuto’s face pales. He lets out a groan and sinks even farther down. It takes all his will power not to bang his head on the counter. 

“They probably hate me.”

  
  


Akaashi is pissed. In the middle of researching on his computer, his knuckles begin to burn. At first, he ignores it. But the pain grows, sending heat through his tendons. His fingers slow their typing until they stop completely to alleviate the agony.

Then there is the sharp throb on his ribs. Like a bullet pierced his side, red tendrils of pain coil growing sharper by the minute. His vision falters a second later, and he isn’t surprised when his eye begins to pulse. He wishes there could’ve been a place to get ice around him, but the library didn’t function as a place to treat wounds from a fight, or at least that’s what he believes happened.

His paper before him becomes disoriented as the pain persists. Even on an off day it is constant. He remembers the clerk from last night, Bokuto asking him why he didn’t write about soulmates. A chuckle escapes his lips. This is the exact reason.

As ice climbs its way through his body, he leaves his stuff on the desk while going outside. Flicking on his lighter, he takes a drag of his cigarette to numb himself. The pain dissolves alongside the ice climbing up his throat.

Letting out a stream of smoke, he turns back to the journal open in his lap and starts jotting down more words. The middle of the story is dragging on, but it’s getting close to the end. He’ll finish before the contest ends, but he still wonders if he should submit it. The nicotine tells him it’s fine, carving out his own piece of the world.

But his rebellion is cut short by his phone going off. He quickly snuffs out his cigarette and brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he says.

“Hey Keiji,” his father says through the speaker. Akaashi twists his hands together to keep from grabbing another stick. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“That’s great! I was just checking to see how your project is going? One of my friends is eager to see it. He says if it’s good enough he can get you a position at The University of Tokyo Hospital, at least an internship while you go to school there.”

Akaashi’s stomach sours. His hands move to the cigarettes, one already appearing between his fingers. The ice is freezing his veins again.

“Sure,” he says. “That’s cool.” He does not say that he doesn’t want to go to medical school.

“Make sure you work hard! I’ll look over what you have tonight,” his father says. “See you later.”

“Yeah see you soon.”

His cigarette is in his mouth before the phone clicks off. With an inhale, his body warms and mind eases. The project drops from his memory as he grows numb. He lets out a sigh of relief as he sucks in another breath. 

  
  


Bokuto kept picking at the scabs on his knuckles. It is pitch black out and not a person in the store. His shift ends in thirty minutes and with nothing else to do, he sits at the counter making his knuckles bleed again. The fight was a couple of nights ago, but his hands still have not healed. 

The faint thought of if his soulmate can feel him playing with the wounds drifts through his mind, but it flickers out. His chest feels heavy, and his brain distant. Words come and go through his head before trickling out. The ice in his veins climbs. He presses harder into his cuts.

At first, he doesn’t hear the chime of the door, but the slam of hands on in front of him makes him look up. Wild eyes meet him as the fervent thumping of a heart fills the air.

“One pack of camel,” Akaashi says. “Please.”

His hair is a bird’s nest with bags under his eyes darker than night. Skin pulls around his face making him look like a skeleton. Bokuto freezes.

“I’ll need an actual ID for that,” he says.

“What?” Akaashi says. “I showed you it last time. I’m a—”

“High school student,” Bokuto finishes with a grin. “Sorry I can’t sell those to you.”

Akaashi’s fists clench as he slams them on the counter. Ice chokes Bokuto’s throat, breathing becomes difficult.

“Look I just need to calm down. Last time, okay?”

“And then you’ll get them somewhere else?”

“You’re not my mother.”

“No, I’m not.” Bokuto gives a cheeky grin. “I’m a convenience store clerk, and I legally can’t allow you to purchase cigarettes.”

Akaashi glares at him. Bokuto moves away from him, going to the opposite end of the counter. After pouring himself a cup of hot chocolate, he hands it to Akaashi, taking the money he left out.

“There,” Bokuto says. “You even get change.”

Akaashi looks between him and the hot chocolate brow furrowing. The ice in Bokuto’s throat begins to melt as he takes a sip. A hint of a smile tugs at Akaashi’s lips.

“And you can even stay in here to write your masterpiece,” Bokuto says. “It’s a win-win.”

Akaashi sends him a glare but goes back to sipping at his hot chocolate. Bokuto’s laughter turns his face red.

“Thank you,” he says. “This helps.”

“I thought it might,” Bokuto said. “When I feel down I make myself a cup. I have a bench back here if you want to sit and relax.”

Akaashi gives him a hesitant glance, before stepping inside. He looks at the wall of cigarettes, but ultimately takes a seat on the bench. Taking another sip of hot chocolate, he eases his shoulders down. His cheeks grow full. Bokuto’s heart warms.

“I get off in thirty minutes if you want to get something to eat,” Bokuto says. “Hot chocolate won’t fill you up that much.”

“Okay.”

The next half hour drags on. When the clock reaches eight, Bokuto throws off his uniform changing into comfortable jeans and jacket. He finds Akaashi still sitting at the bench, hot chocolate finished and his book open. His pen scribbles at the page, turning it as the words fill the entire sheet. Bokuto calls out to him and together they exit the building as a man with black hair takes Bokuto’s place at the counter. He gives them an odd look.

The restaurant Bokuto takes them to is a hole in the wall. Wood panels board up the windows while the door has a hinge broken off. Akaashi’s nose scrunches at the place.

“This won’t do,” Akaashi says.

“Aww come on, I promise it tastes good!” Bokuto says. “It’s pretty cheap as well so no worries about that.”

Akaashi’s brow furrows. His arms cross as he breaths steam into the air. “I can afford to buy both of us dinner from a _nice_ restaurant.”

“This is _nice._ Trust me. If you hate it we can leave.”

Akaashi’s face sours, but he follows Bokuto inside. The restaurant itself isn’t much better than the outside with low hanging lights and darkness creeping in every corner. Each table is ancient with wood so decrepit it looks as though it is plucked from a haunted house. Underneath their weight, the chairs squeak. But the waiter is nice, smiling a movie star grin and speaking in a chipper voice. He is forced away from their table by a man yelling from the kitchen.

“That’s my friend Oikawa,” Bokuto says. “We went to school together a couple years ago.”

Akaashi’s brow furrowed. “Years ago? Are you in college?”

“Nope!” he says. “I’m in high school, or would be a senior,”

“Would be?”

Bokuto’s face burns, and he shakes away the memories that try to climb upon him. He gives a smile as an answer.

“How’s your story coming? Last time you were pretty far into it.”

Akaashi’s eyes light up in the dim room. He looks down, a hint of a smile picking up the corners of his lips. “I finished.”

“That’s awesome! Can I see it?” 

Akaashi digs into his bag and hands the stuffed journal to Bokuto. He dives into, reading about a woman and her partner’s search for freedom in a society focusing power only in the men. Each word intrigues him, even if he can’t understand it. His brow twists together tighter and tighter until the end comes, and his face lights up.

“That’s amazing! The characters are so cool, I wish I was Kiyoko,” he says. “She’s so powerful. Standing up by herself to everyone like that? It’s really amazing, you should publish it.”

Akaashi’s face turns red, and he glances away. His fingers fiddle on the table. “There is… a contest I was going to submit it to. I’m still unsure if I will.”

Bokuto leans closer, face inches away from Akaashi’s. He grins. “You definitely should. I bet you’ll win.”

Akaashi’s cheeks warm, but he looks away. “My dad doesn’t want me to. He’ll be furious if he finds out I was doing this.”

“Then don’t do what he says and do it anyway,” Bokuto says. “It’s already written, right? Why not submit it.”

Akaashi’s hands twist together, before they ease. A smile makes its way onto his face, and with lit eyes he meets Bokuto’s. “Alright I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Bokuto grins as his chest fills with warmth. “I’m sure you’ll win.”

Never has a button appeared so terrifying. The white cursor flicks over the red square like a ghost. All he has to do is press the mouse, then it is sent.

Akaashi sucks in a breath trying to warm the ice crawling over his back. Throwing down the nausea in his stomach, he forces his finger down. A thank you appears on the screen with a notification popping up on his phone.  
Letting out a breath, he collapses back in his chair. Warmth radiates through his chest as the sun brightens his room. He’s grinning; he can’t remember the last time that happened. His journal grins back at him.

A knock sounds at his door, and he stiffens. Closing out the tab, he runs to the other end of the room throwing open the door. He bows to his father.

“How was your day?” he asks as his dad makes his way into his room. 

“Good. Not too many patients.”

His father takes a seat in one of the two chairs next to his desk. Akaashi eyes his notebook sitting open. He sits down, trying to block it from view.  
“That’s good,” he says “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to check on your project.”

Akaashi’s face pales. Ice crawls through his back. “Oh, that.”

His father’s brows narrow. “Is everything going alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaashi says. “It’s started.”

“How far are you into it?”

“I’m—”

A stab of pain shoots through his gut. It’s not like the pain he usually experiences. The throb is one thing, but this is sharp. It burns through his being digging a hole into his gut. Past the skin, into the muscle, and pouring blood to the ground. But there is no damage present. Only the agony dragging him, down, down, down.

“Keiji!”

His father’s voice is a distant call. He tries to focus on it, to even hear it. But the pain fills his vision with black spots and pulls him into his own corner of the universe. He hisses and bites his lip to try to return.

What the hell is his soulmate doing?

  
  


He’s lucky to be alive. That is what the doctor told him. Had the knife cut an inch deeper, he wouldn’t be here. He’s even luckier that the hospital is so close to his house. The wound would’ve been too much for their hospital if he lost even more blood.

Bokuto tries not to think about that as he is released, nor does he think about the hospital bill he’ll have to pay. He can only think of a story of freedom and dark hair and sparkling eyes as he heads home.

His apartment is about the size of a closet, probably a little smaller even. It has enough space for his bed, stove, dresser and limited cooking supplies. The walls are falling apart; the wallpaper eroded the first year he moved exposing the rotting wood. But it’s the closest thing to a home he has.

He flops on his mattress, side stinging from the stitches. Wincing, he pulls his head up to glance at his brick phone. Messages flooded in from his co-workers. Sakusa even sent a get well soon text. He smiles at that.

His grin grows at the text from Akaashi saying that he sent in his story. It was sent just before he went to the hospital. The good news warms his heart. Even the small sunlight appears brighter. 

He sends back that he’s happy for him before turning to stare at the ceiling from his back. 

In his mind he still sees the man. He was beating a young woman when Bokuto stepped in to stop him. At the time, his knife was invisible. Then in a flash it was in Boktuo’s side. His gut screams at the memory. 

“Am I making you proud?” he whispers. His voice carries through the empty room. He hopes she hears it on the other side. The only response he gets is the creak of his walls under the wind. He runs a hand through his hair blowing out a breath to calm the pain.

He hopes his soulmate isn’t in this bad of a state. When he meets them, he’ll apologize and explain. If they’re bonded to him like that, they’ll understand right? 

Letting out a sigh, he closes his eyes dreaming of warm eyes, journals, and stories about a world so different from his own.

Weeks pass after Akaashi is nearly sent to hospital for his soulmate’s pain. There is no answer about who it was, where it was, and how it happened. All he knows is that he wants this soulmate stuff to end.

When he visits Bokuto next, he asks him why he thinks it’s important.

“Why wouldn’t it be important?” Bokuto says. “This is the person you’re going to spend your whole life with. They’re the one person who can’t leave you.”

Akaashi sits on the bench behind the counter. He sips at his hot chocolate while his face contorts. 

“But they hurt you.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but at the same time they understand you better than anyone else out there,” Bokuto says. “They know your pain and how you feel.”

Bokuto’s eyes are distant as he leans over the counter. He stares out the door like that person might walk in at any moment. 

“But at what cost?” Akaashi mumbles in his drink. Bokuto’s attention turns back to him. 

“What’s all this about? Pressure from your parents?”

Akaashi rolls his eyes. “Hardly. My soulmate is constantly getting into trouble. I don’t know what they do, but everyday _something_ hurts. The other day when I sent in my story, I nearly went to the hospital because of the pain they caused. It was like they got stabbed. Honestly, I think my soulmate is a part of a gang.”

Akaashi’s chest chills. He shivers as ice falls across his back. His hot chocolate does little to warm him. When he glances up, Bokuto is frozen. Every inch of his face pulls tight. He runs a hand through his hair turning around.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

Akaashi waves his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“I—” Bokuto shoulders shake, before he turns around smiling. “I know, that’s just a terrible thing to happen. I hope you’re feeling better.”

There isn’t much else they talk about save for Bokuto asking about his story (he doesn’t know yet) and Akaashi stealing another hot chocolate.

He gets his answer two days later. An email flashes across his screen with the big words congratulations printed in red over the screen. His grin glows brighter than the sun as his heart soars. The reward includes being published in one of his favorite magazines, Bungkukai and a scholarship for any college he chooses to attend.

While he is grinning, he doesn’t hear his father knocking on the door to his room. His first instinct is to text Bokuto about his success. The chime echoes back as his father enters.

“What’s got you smiling?” his father asks, sitting down in the chair next to his. Akaashi’s head snaps up, and he moves to close his computer. But it has already been read.

“Writing contest winner?” his father echoes as the page fades away. “What is that?”

“Nothing,” Akaashi says.

His dad’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“It’s just a writing contest I won,” he says. “I got money and everything. I’m even published in—”

“This is what you’ve been working on instead of your project?”

Akaashi freezes. Ice pulls at his throat, choking out a ‘yes’. His father’s glare is one of daggers. Akaashi curls on himself, hands twisting together.

“Are you kidding? This isn’t going to get you anywhere,” his father says. “This will only result in you ending up on the streets like that soulmate of yours.”

“But this is what I love,” Akaashi says. “I’d rather be happy than become miserable my whole life following what _you_ want me to do.”

A slap stings his cheek. His head jerks back, the room spinning. When he looks up, he is met with an angry storm. It softens as Akaashi gapes, turning instead to terror. But the damage is already done.

“I didn’t,” his father says. “I didn’t mean—”

But Akaashi is already out the door. His room and house blow past him as he hits the street. He runs against the crowds settling to their homes for the night, desperately trying to find the bus stop. His legs push him to his corner of the world, one with warmth and hot chocolate and acceptance. The place he can be exactly who _he_ wants to be.

The squeal and honk of cars belong to a distant world. He draws nearer and nearer until he is engulfed in colorful lights. 

When he throws open the door, a bang shatters his world.

  
  


Bokuto pumps his fist in the air when he gets the text. Two words with the power to lift him into the sky.

**I won.**

**See, didn’t I tell you :D**

He cheers, catching the attention of the customer at the counter. He gives him a strange look, but Bokuto grins.

“My soulmate is getting published.”

“And I’m trying to buy some snacks,” the blonde says. “I don’t care about your personal life. Just ring me up.”

“Will do.”

Bokuto is on cloud nine, humming a tune from his earlier job as he rings up the remaining customers. He ignores their questioning gazes.

What he doesn’t ignore is the sudden sting on his cheek. His hand raises, but there is no bruise. For the first time in his life, the pain isn’t his. He freezes while holding the customers items. Ice claws over his back, and his stomach drops a thousand meters. 

“Sir,” the man at the counter says.

Bokuto doesn’t respond. He places the item down, ready to sprint out. But he does so, an arm grabs him. He whirls around to shake it off, but the shine is all too familiar.

The world freezes as his entire body turns to ice. His breath disappears and shivers run through his body as the barrel of a gun points at him. 

Screams echo in his head, and he tells himself that is a distance past. But the _gun_ is real. The threat is real. 

“W-what do you want?” he asks. 

“Everything in there,” the robber says. “Give it here.”

“Here’s the key.”

The man trails Bokuto’s movements as he moves back from the register. He grins suddenly, jumping over the counter and pinning Bokuto to the ground. 

“I said _everything_ ,” he says. “That includes you.”

Those words echo through Bokuto’s head. They ring through his memories, echoing back the blood, the screams, the death, and all the pain that resulted from it. 

“You’re the one from before,” Bokuto says. “You murderer.”

His grin turns into one of the devil’s. “I thought you looked familiar. It was your mom, right? You’ll join her later, but I want to make sure you get the proper treatment.”

Bokuto screams as pain shoots through his leg. The man stands, horns coming from his head. 

“I’ll get my money first though, how about it?”

“You bastard.”

Bokuto presses his leg to the ground, trying to stand. He hisses, but pushes himself upright. Those screams continue to ring in his ears. He grits his teeth and runs forward.

The man raises his gun again, but before he can move his finger, both men freeze. A shout turns their attention from each other to the door.

“Bokuto?”

His face pales as he sees Akaashi there. His left leg is bent and his eyes are frantic. He backs up a step as his eyes fall to the man. His face is as white as a ghost.

“I take back what I said, this one is much more pretty,” the man says. 

Bokuto’s world goes red. His stomach bubbles as heat tears through his veins. The pain in his leg is melted by the growing temperature of his body. He jumps forward, pulling the man behind the counter. A grunt escapes his lips as he falls with him.

They stumble to the ground, Bokuto wrestling to get a hold of the gun. A shot goes off in the process, but they continue tumbling. Slamming his elbow on the man’s hand, he pries the gun from his hands. The man roars, trying to hit the gun away. Before he can, Bokuto’s already fired a shot. It goes straight through the man’s head.

His body stops moving a second later, slumping to the ground. The screams disappear with the light of his eyes.

Bokuto’s chest heaves. Heat still burns through his body, his mind moving a mile a minute. Once he sees the red splattered over the ground, he wretches. He twists, until there’s nothing left except him shivering on the ground. He wonders if this is freedom.

“Bokuto!” a voice cries behind him. It takes his mind a second to process Akaashi’s voice. By the time he does, Akaashi is before him. His face twists with every second he searches Bokuto’s body until he stops.

“Shit,” Akaashi curses.

“What?” Bokuto croaks. 

That’s when it hits him. Underneath the heat, his chest throbs. The blood he thought was only the man’s is his own. A shot tore through him. 

Akaashi’s hand shoots to his own chest as the throbbing grows. His face pulls together before blowing up. Bokuto nods weakly, a laugh quietly shaking him. 

“Looks like we’re soulmates,” he says. “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused. I hope it’s better now. You’re free right?”

_And I guess I’m free too._

But Bokuto’s mouth couldn’t move anymore. His body eases into the tile as the world around him spun. His mom’s face smiles down into his own little corner. One of love, one of hope, one of freedom.

He doesn’t expect to wake up as it all disappears.

  
  


The throbbing in Akaashi’s chest disappeared a few weeks ago, but he wants it back. It would mean that he is awake. It would mean that his corner of the world has returned. While he was alive, it was as though a piece of Akaashi was ripped away.

Everyday he sits in Bokuto’s hospital room instead of the library. A hot chocolate sits in his lap, though there is a dull ache for a camel. He forces those thoughts away with the sweet taste.

He taps at his laptop, copying down the stories written in his journal. When he looks up at Bokuto’s rising chest, he smiles and jots down a few notes. 

He writes about a hero this time. One that saves a man from the clutches of society. Together they create their own corner of the world. The next contest he submits to after his father’s proofreading. Suggestions here and there make it clean.

He wins the contest, and around the same time the magazine is published for his first piece. He gets the Bungkukai and keeps it closed as he enters the hospital. The people at the front desk know his name by then, and greet him with grins and exchange laughter.

Moving down the hall, he pushes open the hospital door. The room smells of flowers, and sunshine lights up the whole place. Ice enters Akaashi’s veins at the sound of beeping, but the sound is quicker, more fervent.

Anything but peaceful.

Then the burning begins. It’s small but present. A hole tearing through his heart. He runs to mend it.

“Bokuto!”

He’s sitting up straight, rubbing with scarred knuckles at his chest. Dark bags pull under his eyes, but his face is vibrant. A healthy pink shining under the sun. When he sees Akaashi, the darkness on him evaporates completely.

“Akaashi?” he says. “You’re here.”

Akaashi has to restrain himself from throwing his arms around Bokuto. Instead he nods, a grin tearing through his face as he sits next to him. 

“Yes, it’s me,” he says. “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”

“Missed me?” Bokuto looks lost, like he went down the wrong street. He tries to find the correct direction in Akaashi’s eyes. “But I’m—”

“You’re my soulmate,” he says. “Who shared every pain I did and pulled me out of that. I could never ask for a better one.”

He places the magazine on Bokuto’s lap. He stares it before a soft smile presses to his lips. “It really is amazing.”

“We did that together,” Akaashi smiles. His chest warms as he leans in. “Don’t forget that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've wrote more than my other story working on these one-shots... Welp self control is something I don't have. I hope you enjoyed! Stay safe :D


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